Reviews by PvtCaboose91

"Look, I know this sounds crazy but... you guys all heard about Flight 180, right? The kid who got off the plane? Well, it happened a year ago, today. My premonition was just like his."

According to the Hollywood rulebook, a commercially viable motion picture should be succeeded by a sequel in order to capitalise on this success. The original Final Destination - a cult horror film about the Grim Reaper finishing his ghoulish work after a group of teens cheat death - contained no visible killer, as well as a tonne of creative, gory death sequences. The bearers of this franchise, realising a wallet-stuffing film series could be on the horizon (ala Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street), consequently green-lit this inevitable follow-up. Virtually none of the main characters from the first film lived to appear in the second, but this isn't a problem...the filmmakers merely needed to create a new batch of victims.

Less of a sequel, more of a retread...2003's Final Destination 2 adheres to the template of the original to the letter, replaying all the riffs and rhymes of its predecessor, from the wonderfully orchestrated deaths to the in-jokes (a few character surnames are again those of horror movie icons, such as Tim Carpenter and Kimberly Corman). This sequel to the 2000 horror sleeper actually works, however, emerging as a slick and downright enjoyable entry to the world of blockbuster cinema.

On the first anniversary of the Flight 180 tragedy (that transpired in the first Final Destination, for those unaware), a group of teenagers are driving to Daytona for Spring Break. Driving along Route 23, everything seems rather off (like the beginning of the first film). Kimberly Corman (Cook) then experiences a vivid vision of an apocalyptic pile-up. Petrified by her intensely real vision (or was it a premonition?), Kimberly uses her car to block traffic, which prevents the queue of motorists from being involved in this catastrophic road accident. Lo and behold, the pile-up actually occurs. By blocking traffic, Kim has caused another "rift" in Death's design. As the survivors come to terms with their lucky escape, Death begins to methodically pick them off and complete his work... In desperation, Kim turns to the sole survivor of the Flight 180 tragedy: Clear Rivers (Larter).

Those familiar with the original Final Destination will recognise this set-up. Final Destination 2, as previously stated, is extraordinarily derivative. The central concept - a string of precise, domino effect deaths - is starting to look tired. The unoriginal screenplay is additionally beset with hokey dialogue as well as being anorexic in the plot department. Unfortunately, as well, the characters are without adequate development. It's therefore quite difficult to genuinely feel for the characters (with the obvious exception of the three protagonists, purely because they're allotted the most screen-time) when they're stalked and dispatched by the Grim Reaper. The characters also arrive at conclusions about things far too quickly, the premonitions occur conveniently (eventually the sheer number of premonitions is ludicrous), and there are some pretty sappy moments throughout the flick.

On a positive note, Final Destination 2 surpasses its predecessor in one aspect - the kill sequences. The original Final Destination featured intricate, Rube Goldberg-esque deaths. For some of these sequences, the elaborate disposition made them truly preposterous. Several minutes were dedicated to building up the imminent death...and as a consequence, the actual death lost it shock value as it was no longer a surprise. Final Destination 2, on the other hand, offers far less complicated killings. In this sequel the whole domino effect technique is retained, but it's under normal circumstances that things go haywire, resulting in eventual deaths. Yes, these kill sequences are generally built up (the hospital, for instance), yet director David R. Ellis is a superior suspense-builder, and the eventual death remains unpredictable which in turn makes them more shocking. Once again, the filmmakers make no attempt to personify Death. Instead, the Grim Reaper remains a supernatural force capable of manipulating anything and everything. There's also a mind-blowing twist; tying the characters into the events of the original movie.

In the capable hands of first-time director Ellis, Final Destination 2 effectively elicits thrills at every turn. Ellis directs with flamboyance and assurance, utilising his experience as a second unit director to craft this slick horror/thriller. His compositions are inventive, slick and spectacular, hitting the ground running by kicking into high gear with a superbly-staged freeway pile-up (a true action tour de force). This jaw-dropping, chaotic motorway sequence has appeared on several "best car crash/accident" lists, and even acclaimed director Quentin Tarantino was quoted as calling it a "magnificent car action piece". For the death sequences the stunts are incredible, the special effects are marvellous, the CGI is seamless and the make-up department...had a proverbial field day. Exertions in all departments come together, conjuring up nail-biting tension. The competent filmmaking almost counterbalances the feebler moments.

The cast is once again comprised of young actors in their mid-twenties trying to pass themselves off as teenagers. And once again, the cast don't even bear a slight resemblance to actual teens.
Ali Larter reprises her role of Clear Rivers from the original film who's recruited to find a way to cheat Death's design for good. Like the first film, this actress is a saving grace. Her acting is solid, and she's very appealing.
In the new cast there's the extremely charming & beautiful A.J. Cook as the premonition-seeing Kimberly, and Michael Landes as a charismatic but generic police officer on Death's list. These two share adequate chemistry, but their eventual romance seems contrived and clichéd. Of the new cast, only Landes, Cook and T.C. Carson (as an uptight black man) bring any depth to their characters. The rest of the cast are quite cardboard, and they lack diversity. A more diverse congregation of actors, and perhaps a better-written group of characters would've made Final Destination 2 a real winner.
CineSchlockers will snap to attention nearly an hour into the movie when Tony Todd (of the Candyman fame) returns to reprise his role from the 2000 original. Todd is memorable as he delivers cryptic prognostications about Death's doings, generating a brilliantly dark mood.

For all its flaws, Final Destination 2 is a slick-looking and well-paced horror sequel. This violent, brutal genre schlock knows precisely what its target audience wants...and delivers it with cleverness and playful exuberance. Granted, the ending is silly, the novelty factor has diminished, there's little substance and plot is at an all-time low...but we don't seek logic or deep characterisations in a horror flick - we want to see people being killed on the most inventive and disgusting scale imaginable. On these terms, Final Destination 2 succeeds. Frankly, this sequel is about as good as its predecessor - equally as flawed, yet equally as enjoyable.

Followed by Final Destination 3 in 2006.

6.6/10

"You already cheated death by walking off the plane. Now you gotta out when and how it'll come back at you. Play your hunch, Alex. If you think you can get away from it. But beware the risk of cheating the plan, disrespecting the design... could initiate a horrifying fury that would terrorize even the Grim Reaper - and you don't even want to fuck with that MacDaddy."

By the year 2000, the slasher genre seemed to have utterly run out of steam given the disappointing final instalment in the Scream trilogy. Final Destination, however, ably proves that there's still life and originality left in the ailing sub-genre. Not a genuine classic by any means, and it's essentially B-Grade horror schlock infused with genre conventions and endowed with A-Grade production values, but this first chapter in what promises to be another never-ending horror saga is superior to your usual horror outing. Blending intriguing supernatural elements with spine-chilling moments and general gory carnage, Final Destination is an extremely entertaining, inventive Friday nighter. Stylishly filmed and tautly directed, this flick deals with a variety of fairly heavy topics which are discussed candidly by teenage characters (in accurately written "teen-speak" as opposed to highly intellectualised dialogue even Harvard scholars wouldn't use), all the while developing into a darkly foreboding, eerie suspenser.

The main story is built on a simple question: what if you cheated Death, but the Grim Reaper still demanded his due?
Alex Browning (Sawa) is a senior French high school student about to embark on a class trip to Paris with his fellow peers. At the airport prior to departure, everything seems a little off. Upon boarding the plane, Alex suddenly has a vision that the plane will explode after takeoff. His vision is so vivid and intensely real that it provokes a violent reaction. This causes a disturbance, and Alex is consequently booted off the plane along with a few other students as well as a teacher. They're furious with Alex's behaviour...but this emotion quickly changes when they witness the plane promptly exploding moments later, killing all on board. However, the seven who stepped off the plane have cheated Death, and Death wants to balance the ledger. Alex and his friends begin to be methodically hunted down by the forces of the Grim Reaper who's intent on collecting the souls of those who cheated him.

"In death there are no accidents, no coincidences, no mishaps, and no escapes."

After this set-up is established, the film indeed turns into a slasher movie, albeit a more thoughtful one than usual. Nobody takes their clothes off, and the usual invincible knife-wielding monster is replaced with the never-seen granddaddy killer of them all, the Grim Reaper. Final Destination doesn't use Death as a killer with superhuman abilities who must be overthrown by the protagonists...it's a truly unstoppable supernatural force instead. However, Final Destination succumbs to far too many genre clichés. The FBI agents are, of course, completely useless in the proceedings, and the adults are equally hapless. Also thrown in is an all-knowing mortician who babbles on for two minutes about "Death's design" (portrayed by none other than Tony Todd of the Candyman fame). The protagonists occasionally do boneheaded things (some characters practically walk into their death as opposed to being alert), and they usually act antagonistic towards one another for forced "tension". On top of this, the standard chase finale is silly, and it lacks intensity from time to time.

The mediation on fate found within the concept of Final Destination would most likely seem more appropriate for a foreign art film as opposed to a teen slasher flick. These provocative questions about premonitions and destiny are employed merely as a hook. The point of the film has nothing to do with the survivors coping with guilt and uncertainty (a potentially fascinating premise). It instead has other things on its mind: concocting graphic bloodbaths, and proving that death cannot be cheated. Final Destination is certainly serviceable as a teen slasher flick...but it's too clichéd, and the premonition aspect is barely touched on. Interestingly, the story was originally the concept for an abandoned X-Files episode.

At least the kill sequences are imaginative and enjoyably gory; evoking the spirit of Rube Goldberg. X-Files alum James Wong directs with style and flair, usually judging the timing of the shocks flawlessly (one particularly nasty road accident will leave audiences gasping with surprise), and in the opening 20 minutes he delivers one of the most devastating air disaster sequences ever committed to celluloid. However, Wong occasionally falters when the death sequences are elaborately built up. This is a fault of both those that choreographed these sequences as well as Wong's handling of the material. The kills are constantly far too elaborate to be believed, and the foreshadowing fails in building sufficient suspense. A "less is more" approach could possibly have proved more effective here. To the credit of everyone involved, though, the "don't go in there" syndrome never kicks in when a character is due to die.

"We're all on the same list."

It comes as no surprise that the "teenage" portion of the cast look more like adults in their mid-to-late twenties as opposed to 18-year-olds. As Alex Browning, Devon Sawa is appealing and subtle. Despite not looking like a teen at all, Sawa offers a certain believability that's beneficial during the film's key moments (after his initial premonition, he looks genuinely terrified). As Clear (the object of Alex's affection), Ali Larter is extremely effective. Ali is undeniably beautiful, but Final Destination never exploits the females of the cast, therein lying one of the best creative decisions of the entire film.
As the movie's resident asshole, Kerr Smith stars as Carter Horton. Alongside him, Seann William Scott places forth a surprisingly decent and charismatic performance as one of those who survives the plane disaster. He's the sort of person who gets inadvertently caught up in awful situations. He's also the only student not to leave the plane voluntarily. The rest of the cast is competent at best, including the requisite adult role (Kristen Cloke).
True fans of the horror genre will realise the characters are named after famous horror icons. For instance: Alex Browning (Dracula director Tod Browning), Larry Murnau (Nosferatu director F.W. Murnau), Agent Schreck (Nosferatu star Max Schreck), Agent Weine (Cabinet of Dr. Caligari director Robert Weine), Billy Hitchcock (Psycho and Rear Window director Alfred Hitchcock), as well as a few others.

In a genre normally devoid of wit, intelligence and originality, Final Destination is a diamond in the rough. Director James Wong's horror movie has the ability to shock (although these moments lose their effectiveness after repeated viewings) and surprise - two qualities rarely found in modern horror flicks. It's ultimately let down, however, by excessive genre clichés and some bad judgements on the part of the filmmakers in relation to some of the death sequences. Instead of a dark horror flick, Final Destination is unfortunately more of a teen slasher. Enjoyable as the latter, but it may have been a superior experience as the former. In spite of a few irritating shortcomings, this is probably the most innovative addition to the genre for years.

Followed by multiple sequels, beginning with Final Destination 2 in 2003.

6.7/10

"Well, you guys are fucked!
They wanted to give you 30 days in jail. But I worked my magic on the judge and instead over the next 30 days you have to log 150 hours of community service."

A fresh take on the standard buddy movie formula blended with sharp, irreverent writing and tight plotting, Role Models is a solid comedy carried by a steady stream of laughs, plenty of heart, and a cast that works incredibly well together. In this era of crass R-rated comedies, humour is generally subjective and reviews of modern comedies merely need to stretch "it's hilarious!" into multiple paragraphs (a sentiment not shared by all viewers, mind you). Fortunately, 2008's Role Models is more than your typical profane comedic trash - it's a good-natured, crowd-pleasing, fun and goofy comedy that merits a look beyond the sheer number of laughs. With competent direction by David Wain (also responsible for 2001's Wet Hot American Summer) and a clever, well-written screenplay, this flick is both eye-wateringly hysterical as well as sentimental without being overly saccharine-coated.

Danny (Rudd) and Wheeler (Scott) are representatives for the Minotaur Energy Drink Company. The two men travel to high schools promoting this caffeine-loaded energy drink as part of a "say no to drugs" program. Wheeler is the simple type who still enjoys empty one-night stands and loves his (dead-end) job. Danny, on the other hand, is a miserable, bitter, cynical bloke annoyed by everyone and everything. After a personal problem throws him off the deep end, Danny goes on a minor rampage which results in the duo's arrest. To avoid 30 days in prison, Wheeler & Danny are forced to perform 150 hours of community service at a charity - a big brother-style program called Sturdy Wings. They subsequently become mentors for troubled children. Their subjects: a foul-mouthed kid named Ronnie (Thompson), and a socially inept nerd named Augie (Mintz-Plasse) who wears a cape and participates in LARP (Live-Action Role-Playing).

Role Models doesn't reinvent the comedy genre or even the buddy movie genre; as a matter of fact, it adheres to the same old trite formula to the letter throughout its runtime. Most conventional is the concluding third which contains hackneyed musical montages (crammed with lamenting) and a predictable coming together in a triumphant event that proves the immature protagonists have changed for the better. Every puzzle piece (and the way they interlock) will be familiar to anyone who's seen this type of mainstream comedy before. Role Models is extremely formulaic, and the outcome is predictable from an early stage. However, a massive credit to the screenwriters (four all told, including director Wain in addition to actors Paul Rudd, Ken Marino and Timothy Dowling) is due - Role Models may be clichéd, but it's also hilarious and plenty of fun, and dull moments are at a minimum. Frequently amusing and extremely enjoyable, this is a great example of familiar comic material made fresh with affectionate irreverence.

The screenplay is a real winner. It's obvious this material was written with Rudd and Scott in mind (Rudd did co-write the thing) as the jokes are fine-tuned towards the stars' comic sensibilities. Role Models is permeated with the type of humour that will definitely offend some people. It may be particularly shocking to those who mistake this flick for a family-friendly comedy about two loveable guys mentoring two young rascals... This is instead a good-natured comedy saturated in raunchy humour and R-rated language. At the same time, though, it ain't all sex jokes and sophomoric locker-room banter, because Role Models additionally delivers a certain sentimental feel good-ishness that prevents it from being mere juvenile comical rubbish.
This picture also does a commendable job of not making LARPing appear totally un-fun. People really do spend their days dressed up like medieval warriors and battling each other, and the film is smart enough not to alienate or offend those involved in the activity it is eagerly lampooning. Sure, those involved in LARPing are just extremists deserving of ridicule, but the screenplay remains decidedly pro-nerd, which makes it seem genuine, and the whole thing is ultimately far more fun.

Another secret weapon of Role Models is the editing. The flick runs a sleek 100 minutes, and there isn't much fat. Mega-producer Judd Apatow's "everything-and-the-kitchen-sink" trademark has led to a number of overstuffed comedies (Knocked Up, Pineapple Express, Superbad, Walk Hard), but Role Models remains rather succinct. The film also doesn't linger on certain jokes. With this clever approach the gags are more understated.
This comedy does, however, hit a rough patch during its midsection where it lags, lacks laughs, and succumbs to screenwriting 101 templates to push it to the finish line. Fortunately, it finishes strongly (unlike, say, Step Brothers) and leaves us smiling when the credits begin to roll.

The screenplay and the direction work to make Role Models an entertaining comedy, but the cast bring everything to life. Every actor in the film brings a certain magic to their role, elevating the clichéd characters and making them seem like actual people. It's fantastic to see Paul Rudd top-lining a comedy after placing forth so many memorable supporting performances in films like Anchorman, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. His Danny is a wonderfully realised contemporary misanthrope. Rudd's deadpan approach and his natural charisma save Danny from being a totally unlikable creation. Seann William Scott is perfectly at home with this form of comedy. He's able to tap into the strong material and enhance it with his own comical talents; mixing charm, bewilderment, and stupidity into an amusing cocktail. Rudd and Scott have great chemistry, and play extremely well off of each other. But the duo are also sublime in their pairings with Christopher Mintz-Plasse and Bobb'e J. Thompson. Thompson and Mintz-Plasse match their (more experienced) co-stars every step of the way, with Thompson in particular developing into a genuine scene stealer. Mintz-Plasse has all the sincerity of a real LARP nerd, chuckling over silly jokes like "the whispering eye", and being deadly serious about the battles he and his "kinsmen" are due to fight in.
Best of all, though, is Jane Lynch's Sweeny who is a tad too proud of her formerly sleazy life and never misses an opportunity to mention it in conversations. Elizabeth Banks is also great as Danny's girlfriend, although she's fairly underused.

American comedies these days owe a huge debt of gratitude to Judd Apatow. Not only has this guy brought back the beloved R-rated breed of comedy, but he's scored multiple winners infused with heart and gags. Comedies like Forgetting Sarah Marshall and The 40-Year-Old Virgin have paved the way for similar films to follow. In fact it's surprising that Apatow's name isn't attached to Role Models considering its foul nature and R-rated language (speaking of Apatow, this film also contains many of his frequent collaborators). Even more surprising is that David Wain's movie is a case of playing Apatow's game better than he ever did it. Role Models is fun, witty, concise and funny, and it has stacks of heart. It's just a shame that there are too many clichés, and the stale formula remains unchanged. Fortunately, though, there are plenty of laughs to conceal its lack of originality...to an extent. Role Models remains a heartily funny diversion, served with believable characters and a few masterful KISS jokes.

7.4/10

"He handed us fiction after fiction, and we printed them all as fact. Just because we found him entertaining. It's indefensible."

In 2003, Stephen Glass - a disgraced former hotshot journalist - published his first novel, entitled The Fabulist. In this novel, Stephen detailed his experiences writing for The New Republic...or, more accurately, fabricating stories for the respected magazine. Shattered Glass is an excellent, predominantly faithful retelling of Stephen's days working at The New Republic before the falsity of his stories was finally uncovered. Written and directed by Billy Ray, Shattered Glass is an incisive, intensely engaging drama as well as a brilliant exposé of the pressures and politics of journalism. Carefully combining the facts with a pinch of artistic license, Billy Ray's extraordinary motion picture caters for both those familiar with the story as well as the newcomers. Frankly, though, if you're in the dark about the Stephen Glass fiasco, you're in for a terrific story made all the more compelling by writer-director Ray's understated approach to the material.

After starting out as a promising journalist for The New Republic (the "in-flight magazine of Air Force One") and rising to meteoric heights in his early 20s, Stephen Glass (Christensen) is on his way to the top of the journalistic profession. Seeking a short-cut to fame, Stephen began using fiction in his work; concocting sources, quotes and even entire stories. Consequently, his articles are cutting-edge; drawing on a seemingly endless supply of insider contacts and informants. His deception, however, did not slip under the radar forever...

Stephen Glass' world begins to unravel when the popular editor of The New Republic, Michael Kelly (Azaria), is sacked due to complications with his superiors (mainly due to his tendency to defend his staff). Replacing him is the unpopular Chuck Jones (Sarsgaard) who isn't prepared to show these writers the same respect.
A lowly internet journalist (Zahn) is suspicious of Stephen's latest article about a pubescent hacker from the suburbs hired by a major software company, and begins to do some digging. As accusations begin to pour in that this story is phoney, Chuck (unwilling to overlook these claims) makes it his duty to thoroughly investigate the situation. This sets in motion a chain of events that ultimately exposes the years of deceptiveness perpetrated by one of the publication's star writers. All told, 27 of Stephen Glass' 41 articles were found to be either wholly or partially fictional. This shocking revelation shook a successful journalistic establishment to its core, and forced considerable revisions of codes of ethics and proof reading procedures. That for so long he managed to avoid being found out is astonishing considering the outlandish nature of his stories.

"The New Republic, snobbiest rag in the business, the in-flight magazine of Air Force One... and their star goes out and gets completely snowed by a bunch of hackers. I mean, God couldn't have written this any better."

This dynamite character drama predominantly concerns the confrontation between the appealing, unscrupulous Stephen Glass and the pedantic, solemn Chuck Lane, and the two drastically different types of journalism they embody - one is committed to entertainment, and the other to truth. When these two men come into conflict, they both stand their ground with the staunch obstinacy of heroes in a Greek tragedy until compromise becomes unattainable, and disaster (for at least one of them) is inevitable. The product is a genuinely gripping story overflowing with strong, flawed characters and compelling drama.

Shattered Glass, the feature film debut of screenwriter Billy Ray, meticulously chronicles the rise and fall of the protagonist. Among other things, the film shows how Glass ingratiated himself with his co-workers, as well as how he constantly squirmed, connived, and deceived to elude the ever-tightening noose. It's clear that Glass is mentally messed up - he takes night school, has serious personal problems and ended up in therapy for several years. Stephen is also a brilliant manipulator, which is evident in his interactions with the staff. Playing innocent, Steve constantly protests "I didn't do anything wrong". Writer-director Ray is careful never to demonise Steve. This portrayal isn't one-sided, but his actions and accountability speak for themselves. Complimenting a secretary about her lipstick does not counterbalance falsifying stories. However, Ray's script falters in terms of depth; it fails to shed sufficient light on Stephen Glass' motives & methods - i.e. the "why" and "how" has been excluded. The film never truly gets inside Glass' head; therefore as a character study it isn't effective enough.

One must always bear in mind that Shattered Glass is based on a true story. Stephen Glass, Chuck Lane, Michael Kelly and various other key characters all exist, although Stephen's editor-girlfriend Caitlin (Sevigny) and perhaps a few others are merely fabricated composites of real people. Glass' actual articles also appear in Ray's film. Even the dialogue is reportedly extremely accurate (some scenes virtually verbatim). The dialogue can only be an approximation of what was really said at the time, but writer-director Billy Ray (striving for the highest level of authenticity) conducted extensive interviews with the main players, and even allowed the real Lane to examine the final script (according to Lane, the scene in which Lane confronts Glass in front of the TNR magazine covers is practically a precise retelling of the actual events). The film itself is therefore the very compromise its characters so glaringly fail to achieve, generating a terrific story without sacrificing its integrity or authenticity...and it remains remarkably entertaining.

This riveting drama is bolstered by incredible performances by both Hayden Christensen and Peter Sarsgaard. Christensen (actually on his way to redeeming himself for Attack of the Clones) is impeccable as the consummate conman, manipulating his peers and superiors by telling them what they want to hear as well as exuding innocence. His juvenile refrain "Are you mad at me?" is so disarming one almost wants this guy to succeed in his lies...almost. The actor perfectly presents the character as a wide-eyed and seemingly naïve kid with many childish mannerisms, and an almost pathological need to be liked. Played with a skilfully handled combination of insouciance, charm and indefatigable conceit, Christensen places forth his best work to date.
Christensen may be exceptional, but it was Sarsgaard who was the breakout star of Shattered Glass, earning several awards (including a Golden Globe nomination) for his portrayal as an editor who slowly grows furious at the lie that has been pulled on him and the magazine. His work is subtle and keenly-observed. It's the type of acting that's so natural one gets lost in it; losing sight of the actor as an actor and only seeing the character he's embodying. Chuck is a character under pressure from everywhere. His allegiance to Michael Kelly is tested, his integrity is questioned, his colleagues dislike him, his young star is under fire from a rival publication, and the whole reputation of The New Republic itself is on the line. It'd be easy for an actor to mismanage these threads and overplay crucial moments. Sarsgaard, however, never falls victim to this... not even for the briefest moment. His performance is unreservedly perfect. Why he was overlooked by the Academy Award committee is frankly bewildering.

But Christensen and Sarsgaard aren't the only ones submitting remarkable performances, as the movie also boasts a plethora of supporting talent. Chloë Sevigny (still recovering from the Brown Bunny fiasco) and Melanie Lynskey are superb as loyal co-workers manipulated by Glass into acting as his mother hens. Steve Zahn (known for his comedic work) is confident and compelling in a more dramatic role as the determined online editor who brings the scandal into the open, and he's supported by the capable Rosario Dawson. Hank Azaria is also sublime as Stephen Glass' first editor who adamantly defends his staff and demands the highest level of journalistic honesty. Most of Glass' fabricated stories, however, were published when Kelly was editor of The New Republic...the appeal of the young man blinded his editor. There is not a single weak spot in this cast.

Shattered Glass is amazing for its faithfulness and accuracy, and (most shockingly) it proves that Hayden Christiansen can actually act (erasing awful memories of his soulless performance as Anakin Skywalker in Attack of the Clones). Writer-director Billy Ray's incredible motion picture pulls no punches and makes no villains out of anyone. Shattered Glass is an incredibly spellbinding film that pulls you in from the very first frame with characters that seem instantly familiar. Most of these actors (all of whom are uniformly excellent) will never be better than their performances here. This is an outstanding first directorial effort from Billy Ray. Utterly suspenseful and strongly paced, Shattered Glass manages to build a sense of dread and anxiety that's exceptional considering the ending is obvious and well-known. Although the film lacks a certain depth as a character study, this transfixing, claustrophobic drama proves that a good story and a subtle approach can be just as effective as any SFX-loaded blockbuster. A fascinating, highly mesmerising morality tale!

8.3/10

"I know how this sounds, but I've mapped these numbers to the dates of every major global disaster from the last 50 years in perfect sequence. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... The next number on the chain predicts that tomorrow, somewhere on the planet, 81 people are going to die, in some kind of tragedy."

Knowing is Alex Proyas' take on the typical end-of-the-world disaster movie formula, infused with an intriguing assortment of additional genre elements, including ghost stories and conspiracy thrillers with a dash of science fiction. Director Proyas (back on the sci-fi chain gang, following Dark City and I, Robot) has taken what begins as a fairly straightforward sci-fi premise to heights of psychological and visceral bravado. However, Knowing is a classic case of a movie that's crammed with interesting ideas but is unable to explore them in an overly satisfying fashion. It undertakes too many genres, resulting in a unique mishmash which never quite gels satisfactorily. For its first two thirds, Knowing is a riveting M. Night Shyamalan-esque thriller capable of engaging a viewer on account of Proyas' masterful storytelling and the outstanding premise. The final third, however, gives into lazy genre clichés before imploding during the ultimately unsatisfying closing minutes. A lot transpires during the film's two-hour duration, and while not all of it may hold up under careful scrutiny, Knowing stands up as a solid escapist cinematic experience enhanced by its chilling symbolism, and filled with tension, thrills and marvellous visual effects.

In 1959, an elementary school in Massachusetts commemorates its official opening by burying a time capsule underground which will remain sealed until the school's 50th anniversary in 2009. Students are asked to submit a drawing for this time capsule; a drawing of their vision of the future. Troubled young Lucinda Embry (Robinson) scrawls down a series of mysterious numbers for her submission to the time capsule...
Half a century later, the time capsule is exhumed and the current students of the elementary school are each given a drawing to study. Young Caleb Koestler (Canterbury) receives Lucinda's seemingly random succession of numbers. This sheet of paper triggers the interest of his father, widowed astrophysicist John Koestler (Cage), who examines the numbers and realises a pattern of chilling historical relevance: it's a cryptogram that faultlessly lists all the world's worst disasters for five decades in consecutive order...and three future catastrophes are also listed.

"What happens when the numbers run out?"

Initially, Knowing appears to be in standard Hollywood sci-fi or psychological mystery territory - and even this ambiguity is enthralling. The elementary school's fifty-year time capsule is opened, and one is already uncomfortable due to the behaviour of little Lucinda who - instead of a drawing her vision of the future - has almost obsessively written out a full page of numbers. Gibberish or code? If code, of what? Why? Proyas' filmmaking competency is on full display here, provoking a never-ending stream of further questions. Who are the enigmatic whispering men in black? Why is the temperature climbing so high? What is the importance of black stones? Proyas makes us care about and ponder all these things. Questions become building blocks of tension as the narrative thrusts into second gear and all the small touches of extraordinary begin to amass into a tsunami of mysteries.

The central question of Knowing is whether the universe is deterministic: are we here because of a meticulous grand scheme, or is our existence on Earth pure chance? For a while, Knowing deals with some fascinating concepts, including questions about fate, chance, and predestination. Also, there's the perception that numbers form the ultimate underlying foundation of the universe - a belief shared by a number of mathematicians and spiritualists alike. Unfortunately, despite the screenplay spending an inordinate amount of time with numerology and questions about destiny, these elements aren't relevant to the narrative's final trajectory. They are, to quote James Berardinelli, "tangential obfuscations" - that is, ways to mislead a viewer and make the resolution "surprising".

Without spoiling much, the final occurrence listed on the numbers sheet is an interesting beast. To the typical movie-goer it may come across as downright terrifying and thought-provoking. To real astrophysicists it may come across as silly and impossible. As this reviewer is uneducated in astrophysics, I am unable to make an educated comment, but would be very interested to hear a professional opinion.

The two (heavily promoted) disaster set pieces of Knowing, in which John's frantic decoding takes him to the sites of a plane crash and a subway accident (events he's attempting to prevent), are the two key components that make this film worth seeing. Alex Proyas - a meticulous visual stylist - knows how to the turn up the tension knobs with proficient camerawork and a blaring Herrmann-esque score from composer Marco Beltrami to complement the mayhem. The disaster sequences are extremely well staged, especially the plane crash which is filmed in a single tracking shot that trails John as he wanders through the wreckage; both thrilling and haunting. These scenes connect (even with a few special effect blunders, like fire touching John's limbs but leaving no burns) because they plug directly into the film's cracking premise as a chest-tightening disaster picture. However, the heavy reliance on CGI is evident. Make no mistake, the visual effects look decent, but they appear to lack a definitive polish and consequently come off as incomplete. The train crash is the worst offender; it's less convincing than, say, Die Hard: With a Vengeance (wherein practical effects and traditional stunt-work was employed to remarkable effect).
Interestingly, Knowing was filmed in Australian locations (mainly in Melbourne) to double for Boston. Believe it or not, the Melbourne locations are quite convincing (this is arguable, though, as Boston's inhabitants may find Melbourne a poor substitute).

For the disaster sequences, tone is the one area where this movie excels. The crashes are deeply disturbing (how this got past the MPAA with a PG-13 rating is a mystery), and it will remind people of 9/11, but Proyas isn't exploiting these sequences for fun or action. Proyas' intention is to make you as shaken as John is, and he succeeds. Knowing is also frequently chilling. When John searches the home of Lucinda (author of the time capsule numbers sheet), the revelation uncovered may be fairly obvious, but it's tremendously creepy. Likewise, the inclusion of mysterious, pale-skinned men in black coats is wringed for a couple of disturbing moments on account of their iris-free eyes and unblinking stares. If Knowing had fulfilled its potential, Proyas might have made one of the year's best sci-fi films as well as one of 2009's best horror films in one fell swoop.

The reliance on CGI grows more detrimental as the picture progresses, concluding with an unnecessarily spectacular FX sequence where something simpler and less ostentatious may have been more poignant (the final 60 seconds should definitely have been removed). During the final third, the tonal change is jarring. What begins as an intriguing mystery/thriller transforms into Close Encounters of the Third Kind combined with Deep Impact before culminating in an unsatisfying conclusion. Alex Proyas and three additional writers reportedly worked on the script, but creativity is at a minimum during the final third. After the meeting with Lucinda's daughter (Byrne), the writing suddenly becomes too lazy, Hollywood and conventional. The problem with such a superb premise is simple: how the hell do you end it? Not enough talent was involved in the creation of the screenplay, unfortunately, and the picture all in all is merely good when it had the potential to be excellent. Tragic, really.

Nicolas Cage is in manic, pseudo-action hero mode. Cage looks the part, but his acting is fairly wooden and he never radiates a genuinely profound sense of humanity. We recognise that his character loves his son because the screenplay spells it out, not because Cage sells it. Nevertheless, Cage is acceptable in the role even if he isn't outstanding. For the most part, he and young Chandler Canterbury make a terrific father and son team, and the picture relies on this equation for much of its emotional punch.
Rose Byrne has an appealing screen presence as Diana Wayland, the grown up daughter of the troubled Lucinda. Believe it or not, it's actually easier to empathise with Byrne than with Cage. Fortunately, the film doesn't attempt to force an inappropriate romance between Cage and Byrne. Youngsters Chandler Canterbury and Lara Robinson (doing double duty; playing Abby and young Lucinda) both have a natural presence despite a few wooden moments, and their uncluttered performances assist in keeping the film grounded. However, the characters occasionally do stupid things. The protagonists leave their cars with the engine turned on and the keys in the ignition at least three times, for instance.

All things considered, Knowing is a solid science fiction thriller with a lot on its mind. By daring to not explicitly answer its various questions regarding destiny and free will, it allows for debate and discussion. Alex Proyas is brilliant at the helm; injecting immediacy, artistic imagination and a looming sense of foreboding into the flabby, disappointingly generic screenplay. What could have been a tight, exciting 100-minute thriller is inflated to 120 cumbersome minutes, force-feeding a sub-standard climax that doesn't fit the tone at all. A broad, leisurely hodgepodge of Hitchcock-style suspense architecture, M. Night Shyamalan-style atmosphere and overblown Michael Bay-esque special effects, Knowing is an adequate apocalyptic thriller which had the potential to be better.

7.1/10

"This guy is like the Terminator!"

Action movies are generally split into two categories - smart actioners, and dumb guilty pleasures. Overblown and ridiculous in every conceivable way, The Marine fails to meet the criteria for either category. This second movie offering of WWE Films (See No Evil, starring Kane, was the first) is so indescribably awful, inept and downright stupid it may actually cause brain damage. Far too mindless to be considered a smart actioner and not fun enough to be considered a guilty pleasure, The Marine is one of this decade's worst action movies. In interviews, WWE superstar John Cena has compared this cinematic abortion to 1985's Commando (featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger). Sure, both pictures are stunt spectacles in which everything blows up, but Commando is at least mildly respectable...The Marine, on the other hand, is poorly made, detrimentally unoriginal and appallingly acted, not to mention the sheer level of stupidity also prevents the film from fulfilling its primary objective of entertaining. It clearly strives to be a serious 80s-style action/adventure with humorous undertones, but instead the entire flick is unintentionally hilarious. This utter garbage could've been so bad that it's good. Instead, Cena's film debut is so bad it's just really, really bad.

In a standard action movie opening sequence, Sgt. John Triton (Cena) - a US Marine - disobeys a direct order and rescues some captured comrades. His superiors aren't fond of his gung-ho style, however, and he's honourably discharged before being shipped back to the US. It's a tough break for John who immediately accepts a job as a security guard. But more over-eagerness on John's part results in his sacking (on his first day of work). Following this second tough break, John decides to embark on a romantic getaway with wife Kate (Carlson).
Meanwhile, the ruthless Rome (Patrick) and his gang of thieves implement a diamond heist in the most conspicuous way possible - people are shot (including two police officers), a cop car is blown up (exploding in a 20-foot ball of flame), and the gang wield massive weapons on the street in broad daylight. Since tough-guy ex-marine John Triton needs someone to kill, the script throws these diamond thieves in his direction. John's wife ends up being taken as a hostage by these criminals (for absolutely no discernable reason). John wants his wife back, so he pursues these diamond thieves through a crocodile-free (but alligator-infested) South Carolinian swamp.

What ensues is a totally unbelievable action romp. Lots of bullets fly (the bad guys are unable to aim a gun properly, of course), everything in sight explodes, and the good guy kills the bad guy. Whoops, was the ending just spoiled for you? Or did you realise (through common knowledge) that the good guy was going to win?
The whole movie is laden with winks (Robert Patrick starred in Terminator 2 and John Triton is compared to the Terminator), tossed in a smorgasbord of a screenplay that gives one of Rome's henchmen a fear of rock candy and a moment where (in mid-threat) Rome answers a phone call to discuss his cable TV options. Couple that malarkey with the fact that Triton survives multiple big explosions (including three building explosions) and an impossibly lenient detective with sketchy motives. Everything in The Marine is pumped up to deafening proportions, from Cena's physique to sports cars for South Carolina state troopers. Continuity errors abound and impossibilities flourish throughout this tedious star vehicle.

The Marine is also infused with a sickening (almost insulting) level of American patriotism. Cena is introduced wearing Marine garb during the opening credits sequence, and he's standing in front of an American flag! Cena looks like a total moron, and these few seconds are enough to elicit derisive chortles. After this despicable sequence, Cena's John Triton proceeds to save US soldiers who have been captured in Afghanistan. Triton is a perfect marksman of course, and those he's battling appear to opt for hand-to-hand combat instead of just shooting the trouble-maker. Cue vomit-inducing, cheesy patriotic music. Oh yeah, and a Russian helicopter arrives to extract the soldiers from the battlefield. After this military propaganda video (that's also very disrespectful to the whole Iraq/Afghanistan situation), the movie gets right down to business...exploring John Cena's two facial expressions.

Modern action movies are normally overwhelmed by unconvincing CGI. Therefore, in theory, an actioner containing traditional stunt work and old-fashioned pyrotechnics should be refreshing and exciting. But it isn't - CGI is eschewed, but the approach is marred due to the fact that realism is thrown to the wind very early into the movie. During the film's main car chase, for example, roughly 300 bullets are fired into a sports car, none of which manage to hit John Triton who's behind the wheel. Tyres are visibly shot, but are perfectly re-inflated in subsequent shots. As the car chase ends, this car flies off a cliff and explodes...and John survives by leaping out of the flaming wreckage to safety. How do the thieves not notice John jumping out of the car when he's in plain sight?!

WWE director John Bonito tries very hard to pump up the excitement factor with this movie...but he fails. The Marine is more or less an extended trailer...90 minutes of fireballs, failed one-liners and fight sequences which are both poorly choreographed and incompetently shot. Dallas Puett's editing is frenetic, jumpy and downright terrible. Another of the production's biggest blunders is trying to pass off Australian locations as South Carolina. Big fail. There are also countless errors in military attire and hand-to-hand techniques, not to mention the politics behind John Triton's discharge is nonsense. Writing and filmmaking can't get much worse than this.

John Cena is a complete dud. In The Marine he's just an unstoppable, invincible action hero; more or less a cyborg impervious to injury. After he miraculously manages to survive a few explosions and hundreds of bullets, the film can no longer be taken seriously. The main problem with Cena's acting goes far beyond his easily spotted first film jitters. He's a mountainous man, but he looks more like a construction worker than a US Marine. Cena is also cursed with the vocal authority of pubescent 16-year-old. This guy has no business trying to pass himself off as a one-man army similar to Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. At least Schwarzenegger was a hard-ass of the highest order, complete with an intimidating voice. Mired by a PG-13 rating that dampens the mood by placing all the violent money shots off camera, Cena comes across as a bland action figure who's ready to feature in any movie the WWE sends down the pipe for him, but who lacks a zesty charisma that could make him a genre icon. Beside him, Kelly Carlson is very forgettable as his kidnapped wife.
At least Robert Patrick brings a little bit of class and star power to the project. He's easy to watch as the goofy, sarcastic leader of a wacky crew of lunatic diamond thieves. Unfortunately, every other member of the cast is unbelievably awful, including a comical black man with a girly voice and a fear of rock candy.

It should come as no surprise that The Marine is a bad movie. If you had high expectations for this second WWE Films production, you're either a deluded wrestling fan or you just haven't been paying attention. If you've decided to give this dirge a shot, one should be completely aware of what they're walking into. Those who defend this awful movie state that the bad acting and weak plot can be overlooked because there's a lot of action to enjoy. I tried to enjoy the action...I really tried. But this dredge failed to entertain me.

1.1/10

"Look into their eyes, can't you see the sin?"

See No Evil marks the first motion picture to be produced by WWE Films; the newest arm of Vince McMahon's entertainment empire. This dull, generic, exploitative horror movie also marks the big screen debut of Glenn Jacobs, better known to wrestling enthusiasts as Kane. As a matter of fact, this routine horror flick functions as a star vehicle for the renowned wrestler. Eager to sucker in the faithful by showcasing Kane's abilities as a tough horror villain, See No Evil is nothing more than a one-note genre offering that comes across as nothing more than a banal collection of gory money shots. Granted, the filmmakers deserve props for infusing this flick with gore galore. Unfortunately, though, the whole falls far beneath the sum of its parts.

The plot is customary horror tripe: idiot teenagers are systematically massacred by an unstoppable killing machine (whose past is full of abuse to justify his killing spree) until the shrewdest learn to fight back. With a runtime of approximately 80 minutes, character development is at a minimum. Characters are hardly introduced before the slaughtering begins, and it concludes with a very predictable climax.
To elaborate: eight juvenile delinquents are transported to a run-down old hotel which will soon be transformed into a shelter for the homeless. In return, the lawbreakers will have a month shaved off their prison sentence. As they commence work and carelessly wander around the decayed premises, a reclusive psychopath (Kane) begins stalking them...offing the criminals one by one.

This absurdly convenient plot which would trigger winces from even the most forgiving horror aficionados is merely a means to an end, and this end is a bucket-load of blood & guts. The script is extremely problematic, but this was definitely to be expected considering this is screenwriter Dan Madigan's first feature-length effort (he was previously a writer for WWE Smackdown!). It's obvious that the studio was desperately trying to cut costs given that the screenwriter wrote Smackdown episodes and the director's past efforts include Brittany Spears music videos and pornography. Horror used to mesmerise viewers through smartly-drawn characters, witty dialogue and a compelling story (see Scream, Psycho and Halloween). See No Evil contains dumb characters, silly dialogue and a derivative story.

"This is not what God wants!"

Logic is completely discarded in Madigan's woeful script. For instance, two of the criminals decide to hunt for a "secret treasure". The safe containing this fortune is apparently so top secret that the map leading to it can be downloaded from the internet!
Consider the logistics of this ludicrous scenario: either felons are selected to work in this hotel, but they're supervised by only three people, only one of which is an armed officer. Uh huh. The whole concept is also impossible. The hotel was set on fire, yet criminals are brought in to clean it in order for the building to be transformed into a homeless shelter. Never mind that the walls and frames would have to be replaced by professionals, and contractors should have to be hired to fix the electricity as well as the plumbing. How does the electricity still work after the place has been abandoned for 35 years? Why aren't the inmates wearing prison garb? Why would the officers let the delinquents run around unsupervised while they drink shots at the bar?

See No Evil also suffers from a crippling lack of originality. Slasher movie stock characters pervade the film, and they act in ways recognisable to any horror buff. There are the token ethnics (one black, one Latino), a nerd, a self-righteous lesbian, and four other characters designed to have sex with each other and get high before having their eyeballs torn out by the killer. On top of this, those who are eventually killed are stupid beyond all comprehension. For added measure (and cliché) the correctional officer supervising the miscreants has a past with the murderer - several years prior, he lost not only his hand to the crazed killer, but also his partner, so there's bad blood between them. But wait, the list of clichés grows longer: two characters who depart from the main group in order to have sex are killed (naturally). Oh, and let's not forget that Kane's character is completely impervious to pain, not to mention his back-story is a breeding ground for ridiculous clichés. In addition, the psychopath killer has the ability to be everywhere at once, and characters appear to show up right on time (when it looks like game over for two characters, in comes another to attack Kane and save the day). One should anticipate a certain amount of clichés in a slasher movie, but the filmmakers don't even seem to be trying here. See No Evil is exasperatingly asinine, irritatingly conventional and utterly brainless!

Director Gregory Dark's résumé is filled with such memorable adult porn films as Hootermania and The Psychosexuals. Bearing this in mind, it may be no surprise that the narrative style of See No Evil is remarkably similar to that of a porno movie. A viewer must endure perfunctory dialogue scenes and wooden acting in between the customary genre sequences. Dark has also helmed music videos; therefore general over-stylisation as well as nauseating, jittery editing is certainly present. The movie is consequently a shambolic blur. Dark can only capture the mayhem with a deplorable assortment of first-year film student trick shots and clichéd flashy editing aplenty. All the flashy edits in the world, however, cannot make up for the bad acting, terrible dialogue, and a plot so predictable that anyone could foresee the outcome by the 10-minute mark.

Taking place almost completely in dingy hotel hallways, the filmmakers attempt to enliven the humdrum surroundings with preposterously conceived deaths (eyes are plucked out, one character gets a cell phone shoved down their throat, another is eaten by starving dogs, and someone else gets crushed by a safe) and dangerously disrespectful film tributes (the movies of Wes Craven were apparently an influence, which is in turn an official insult). Even the minor usage of CGI is a dud. As Kane falls from a high window to his predictable death, the computer effects look too cartoonish to be taken seriously.

To make matters worse, none of the actors can act, nor can they convey fear convincingly. When it comes to WWE wrestlers, some can act and others can't. Prior to See No Evil, only Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson had tried his hand at acting with moderately pleasing results. But for the WWE to think that everyone else in their little galaxy will be just as successful is the mother of all delusions of grandeur. Glenn Jacobs, a.k.a. Kane, is not destined for an acting career. He has the acting skills of a fire extinguisher, and has the screen presence of a shaved ape. Granted, Kane only had to grunt, swing an axe, utter a grand total of three words and look confused, but this acting goal is not even achieved. The bald seven-foot wrestler looks more like a modern Tor Johnson, and is so inept he's more cuddly than terrifying. Instead of imposing, he comes across as a junior high school bully with an eye socket fetish.
The rest of the cast - comprised mostly of Australian actors, as the film was shot in Australia - is almost uniformly bland. It'd be redundant to list all the primary actors involved, as they're all quite forgettable. While viewing the movie, a spectator is merely asked to watch as characters die horrible deaths, which can be rewarding at times since there is no reason to care about them in the first place.

To its credit, See No Evil does provide a few delightfully gory death scenes and only occasionally does the film plod during its brisk 80-minute duration. Unfortunately, though, this doesn't count for much when the film as a whole is clearly a by-the-numbers moneymaking operation for the WWE. See No Evil is just another illogical, badly-acted exploitation slasher movie that we've all seen many times before.
The golden days of horror are clearly long behind us. Those were the days when a horror film kept you on the edge of your seat through fear of the unknown. Not only does this awful horror flick leave nothing to your imagination, but it would also seem the director forgot to use his at all. Gregory Dark has set the bar as WWE's first feature film director... It's so unbelievably low that even Uwe Boll would have a hard time limbo-ing under it.

"I see now..."

1.5/10

"Every story has an end. But in life, every ending is just a new beginning."

More or less another tired take on the old Odd Couple formula, Uptown Girls is an uneven, clichéd, saccharine-coated blend of comedy and drama. Ostensibly aimed at a teenage female audience, Uptown Girls is a sterling example of Hollywood craftsmanship gone wrong. Both critics and audiences have perceived this fluffy filmic creation to be among 2003's worst movies, and, frankly, you'll be hard-pressed to feel to the contrary. A host of continuity problems, lack of proper direction, sloppy screenwriting and stereotypical characters aside, the picture is simply tedious. Saturated in corny cuteness by the committee of screenwriters (Julia Dahl, Mo Ogrodnik and Lisa Davidowitz) and glossily directed by Boaz Yakin, it's a cotton-candy confection that's far too superficial and mannered. Can't say you weren't warned, though, as the picture is named after a Billy Joel song...a song which is never even featured on the film's soundtrack!

As for the plot: Molly Gunn (Murphy), the free-spirited daughter of a deceased rock star legend, has lived a carefree, frivolous life without responsibility. Using the multi-million dollar inheritance left to her by her parents, Molly has never been required to hold down a job, and has successfully delayed the onset of adulthood. When her late father's financial advisor flees with the remainder of Molly's fortune, she's left bankrupt, heavy in debt and evicted. With no alternatives, the rock star princess sets out to find a job. Molly is hired to serve as a babysitter for precocious, obnoxious spoiled brat Ray (Fanning). Predictably, Molly and Ray's interaction is life-changing for both souls. Honestly, who didn't see that coming? More importantly, who cares?

Unevenly pitched between scatterbrained humour and transparent tugs on the heartstrings, Uptown Girls is fundamentally a silly fairytale set in a real-world setting. While the performances are fairly appealing and the filmmaking is adequate, the screenplay is woeful. The central criticism of this abysmal screenplay is simple: it seems to faithfully adhere to the formula of 2002's About a Boy, to the extent that About a Girl is probably a more appropriate title, and this movie was in all likelihood green-lit to capitalise on the success of the aforementioned British gem. Both movies feature immature adults and intelligent but maladjusted children who all come of age through their interactions with each other. They both even have the same climax; a child performing in front of a crowd, which apparently solves everything.

"Fruit punch? Why don't you just drink cyanide? At least it's quick."

Fanning's Ray (while undeniably cute) is one of the least likeable kids in cinematic history. She's mean-spirited and obnoxious, and has the emotional depth of a tax attorney. Murphy's Molly, on the other hand, is a detestable, ditzy hippy. The script is also loaded with horrible dialogue. It contains an inordinate amount of annoying catchphrases which are apparently supposed to be cute. Common phrases are even over-abused, with characters constantly uttering "Oh my God" among other things. It's difficult to fathom how it took three writers to pen this script. They appear to spend so much time bolstering the characters up, and succeed only in making you want to strangle them. On top of this, there are the irritating on-again, off-again antics of Molly and her love interest Neal (Spencer). Not long after meeting, they're in the sack. And before a relationship has even been established, both of them have already prepared break-up speeches. From there the relationship yo-yos back and forth with no rhyme or reason (except to deliver ersatz moments of drama), culminating in silly plot turns such as Neal's recording of a song destined for death in the bargain bin.

With a bundle of egregiously flagrant film flubs, Uptown Girls may also be one of the sloppiest movies in history. Virtually all movies, even great ones, contain a few minor mistakes, but Uptown Girls features several unforgiveable doozies. The electricity in Molly's apartment has been disconnected, for instance, yet her television miraculously still functions. She's also unable to pay her phone bill, yet her answering machine still receives calls. In one of the film's most crucial scenes, Neal displays his uncanny ability to sing and play his guitar while his mouth is shut and hands are clapping.
Not to mention the script is also plagued with inconsistencies in relation to Ray's character. Ray chastises Molly for touching her toys, for example, yet doesn't really seem to mind a pig traipsing around her room. Another head-scratcher: Ray must wipe the top of every new bottle she drinks from, but allows Molly to sleep in her bed after she has submerged herself in a creek filled with raw sewerage. Convincing development of character relationships is another thing Uptown Girls is deficient in. Emotional details appear to be missing. From time to time it seems as if an important, full scene has been excised, and crucial developments have occurred off-screen.

"Act your age, not your shoe size."

However, Uptown Girls is infused with a minor charm, and the source of this charm is the nice cast. The irresistible Brittany Murphy is appealing for such a shallow character. The actress again demonstrates her ability to handle ditzy comic roles with ease. Young Dakota Fanning is gorgeous and believable as the neurotic Ray. Her character's nature notwithstanding, Dakota is moderately charming in her role, and provides the film with its only genuinely amusing moments.
Australia's Jesse Spencer also places forth a credible, appealing performance as a dubiously talented British musician. Other members of the cast include Marley Shelton, Donald Faison, Austin Pendleton and Heather Locklear, all of which do an adequate job with the dismal script.

Precisely which demographic the filmmakers were trying to reach remains a real mystery. The situations are generally too adult (lots of sexuality is on display), thus the film is inappropriate for younger children (in spite of the feel-good marketing campaign which appeared to suggest that the film is a worthwhile family fare). On the other hand, a majority of Uptown Girls is far too juvenile for most adults who'll hardly be entertained. With its standard chick-flick music montages depicting Murphy's silly antics, and yet another stereotypical heart-throb for the romantic lead, there is also little appeal for a male audience.

In 1989, Boaz Yakin witnessed his first screenplay hit the big screen in the form of The Punisher. Fourteen years later, in a strange twist of fate, Yakin has become The Punisher! Uptown Girls is an awful movie in almost every aspect. It seems unconcerned with painting a realistic world, alternatively resembling some ludicrous fairytale environment.
The "jokes" are poorly timed and frequently unfunny, the screenwriting is inept, and the film suffers from a distinct lack of direction. Fortunately, the performances (in particular the superbly caustic Fanning) manage to keep the sentimental script afloat. Maybe it will appeal to teenage girls seeking a movie to watch during a party due to the nice performances, but it's bona fide junk for everyone else. A truly loathsome experience!

3.5/10

"So what do you have to do to get forty million dollars?"

Duplicity - this incredibly witty, intelligent comical crime caper concerning two professional spies with pronounced mutual trust issues - is the second directorial outing of acclaimed screenwriter Tony Gilroy (the man who also scripted the Jason Bourne films). Merging the cold corporate intrigue of Michael Clayton (the writer's Oscar-nominated debut as a director) with the suave, globetrotting antics of the Ocean's trilogy, this effervescent, meticulously plotted heist thriller is dazzling entertainment for a mature audience. The title of Duplicity (meaning deceitfulness) is extremely appropriate for such a twisty motion picture. Rest assured that with Gilroy serving as both writer and director, plot twists are frequent and (similar to Michael Clayton) concessions are rare for those who refuse to pay close attention. Luckily, Gilroy's film is an ultra-slick cinematic creation bursting with intrigue and visual elegance, not to mention it also features an outstanding cast...we're hooked from the very beginning.

The grim depredations of the corporate world may lie at the centre of Gilroy's film once again, but he manages to have loads of fun with them this time. Gilroy establishes the comical tone brilliantly with a slap-happy opening credits sequence featuring two titans of industry (Wilkinson and Giamatti) battling one another (in exaggerated slow motion) on an airport tarmac before their respective private jets as their aghast entourages observe the situation.

The less you know about the plot, the more enjoyable your viewing experience. In a nutshell: the story follows two lovers - CIA agent Claire Stenwick (Roberts) and MI6 agent Ray Koval - who become caught up in a feud between two multinational pharmaceutical companies which threatens to tip over into outright war. With one cosmetics company on the verge of announcing a lucrative, earth-shattering new product that will give them an edge in this battle, Claire and Ray spot an opportunity to strike it rich. They quit their jobs and plan to infiltrate the two organisations with the intention of obtaining the special formula for this new product.
Naturally, not everything goes to plan (it would be less interesting if everything ran perfectly), which amplifies the suspense tenfold in the lead-up to the climax. Viewers will be constantly kept on edge of their seats as the central relationship wavers, and alliances change (as do plans). Who is playing who?

"You on one side, me on the other. It's perfect."

Throughout Duplicity, nothing is as it seems. Characters play each other and plot twists unspool at an alarming rate. All this game playing provides Gilroy with the chance to refashion the debonair, sharp banter of 1930s romantic comedies; updating it to suit a darker, harder edged contemporary context. Accomplishing this tricky high-wire act is nothing short of incredible. Gilroy's dialogue is sizzling and witty. The timeline is very jumpy - leaping from "Five Years Later" to "Ten Days Ago" - and it takes the best part of an hour for all the puzzle pieces to very slowly begin assembling themselves. Gilroy also infuses the drama with an impressive array of surveillance techniques that the two companies utilise in order to pry into the other's business. Whether these methods are true or not remains a mystery, but they're wholly believable in context (as is the unreserved corporate avarice). Interestingly, unless you're very savvy with the film's premise, it may take a while to grasp aspects of the plot. For instance, it isn't made blatantly obvious until the heist occurs that the competing corporations are actually cosmetics companies who employ professional spies in order to get ahead of their competition!
Gilroy directs with elegance; drip-feeding plot details to his audience until the big picture is finally revealed. When he does reveal the product the entire scam concerns, it's frankly absurd. However, Gilroy probably understood that anything would seem silly after all the effort expended, thus he chose a MacGuffin so ludicrous that it's almost a sly wink to an audience.

Duplicity is a deceptively lightweight thriller that will hardly appeal to the masses. While trailers advertised the film as perhaps another Italian Job or Ocean's Eleven, the product is in fact far more sophisticated and slow-paced. No action, no car chases, no shootouts, no explosions...just a well-written story with great actors. Gilroy eschews spy action in favour of verbal gunfire, with colossal chunks of the film devoted to the fine art of banter. Those with a short attention span are advised to look elsewhere. Those willing to indulge in ultra-slick, mature, smart entertainment have come to the right place.

Duplicity isn't necessarily faultless, mind you. There are slight hindrances in Gilroy's screenplay that keep it out of the same league as, say, his own Oscar-nominated Michael Clayton. The major problem is in regards to the sheer ingenuity of the screenplay. Gilroy concentrates on the superb plot twists to such an extent that the complexities of the story prevent it from being genuinely involving.
The two main story elements crammed into the 125-minute runtime are the caper itself, and a romance story between the two leads. Duplicity unfortunately focuses too much on the latter - becoming bogged down during the saggy, plodding middle section which flashes back a bit too frequently to plug into the relationship between Ray & Claire. The protagonists' romance truly needed to be adequately developed for sure, but this overkill hampers the far more interesting main plot. Thankfully, as soon as the film shifts its focus to the caper during the final act, things hit top gear. Gilroy manages to ratchet up the tension and intrigue extremely well here. This tension is skilfully maintained; expertly wringing maximum suspense out of mundane details (a nail-biting hunt for a photocopier, for instance). It's relieving that the sluggish middle act eventually gives way to a rewarding payoff.

Tony Gilroy's films are always ultra-slick, and Duplicity is no different. Robert Elswit's stylish photography as well as James Newton Howard's vibrant, nicely spiced musical score enhance the tactile pleasure of this picture. Craftsmanship is of the highest level. From Kevin Thompson's lavish production design that complements the various locations to Albert Wolsky's smooth costume design, Duplicity is - in every aspect - a film created with complete assurance. Best of all, Gilroy had the flick shot, edited and scored like a sexy '60s caper picture - conga drums & horns, spy jargon and tense moments when a single misplaced step could terminate the entire operation. The fast-paced interaction between the actors, and the usage of split-screens in transitions give Duplicity a lively, hip retro feel that also greatly adds to one's overall enjoyment of the film (once you get past the initial barriers, that is).

At the end of the day, Duplicity - with its knotted narrative and sassy attitude - is more or less a good excuse for Clive Owen and Julia Roberts to engage in some verbal tango for two hours. How you feel about the movie will greatly depend on how you feel about the actors. Reteamed after working together in 2004's Closer, Roberts and Owen generate terrific chemistry as they endearingly steer through their respective characters' insecurities and foibles. The title of Duplicity is particularly fitting on account of the nature of their interaction, as Claire is continuously deceiving Ray and trying to ruin his undercover operations.
Clive Owen, fresh from the similarly globe-trotting The International, serves up yet another taste of how the actor might have played James Bond. Owen's character of Ray is probably the closest he's played to his own real-life persona as he's less angst-ridden than his usual roles. Julia Roberts is back playing the type of character that highlights her strengths as an actress. Think Ocean's Eleven and Twelve.
Tom Wilkinson and Paul Giamatti are perfect casting decisions. Both the actors are delicious as competing, hate-fuelled kings of industry with cutthroat mentalities and egos that know no bounds. Giamatti is particularly excellent; demonstrating the sordid audacity that comes with feeling impervious (most evident in a rousing speech presented to his company's shareholders). Wilkinson is the quieter, almost effeminate head of the opposition. His performance is a standout. The actor was nominated for an Oscar for 2007's Michael Clayton, and he works his magic here once again (despite his role being fairly small).
While Roberts and Owen are apart, they have equally terrific scenes with a wonderful array of supporting players. Roles are filled by strong character actors such as Dennis O'Hare and Tom McCarthy, both of whom played small parts in Michael Clayton. In addition to these actors, Carrie Preston plays a woman from the secretarial pool tricked into helping Ray.

Cramming in enough upscale locations, narrative switchbacks and romantic intrigue to keep an audience fairly rapt, Tony Gilroy's Duplicity is an enjoyable, droll, smart Hollywood escapade. It's hard to believe this is only the writer/director's second directorial undertaking. Gilroy may have taken his time honing his voice as a filmmaker, yet at this stage he appears to have the art down to a science. This heist thriller may not be an award-winner at year's end, but for adults seeking a movie that treats them with genuine respect, there are few films that better fit the bill. Neither a generic spy flick nor a conventional romantic comedy, Duplicity is a satisfying unification of the two genres that's very enjoyable, sophisticated and witty. It may be a frustrating motion picture, but it does - with its conclusion of sheer marvel - ultimately reward you for battling through the saggy middle of the film.

7.3/10

"Maria Elena used to say that only unfulfilled love can be romantic."

Woody Allen sustains his unmatchable filmmaking pace of helming at least one movie every year (keeping this up since 1982) with 2008's Vicky Cristina Barcelona; this intricate and thoroughly enjoyable examination of the vagaries of love. That the 72-year-old writer/director still manages to say something about the subject is impressive enough, but the fact that he successfully expresses himself through two young women makes this accomplishment all the more stunning. Vicky Cristina Barcelona marks Allen's fourth (and final) consecutive film shot outside of the United States (returning to New York for his 2009 release). The European locales of Allen's 2005-2008 body of work (Match Point, Scoop, Cassandra's Dream and the film in question) have given his pictures a less insular feel, and the picturesque location work of Vicky Cristina Barcelona is particularly stunning. Allen's 2008 project also succeeds due to the enchanting cast, the pleasant atmosphere, and the delightful soundtrack (consisting of lovely local music).

As the movie opens, the soon-to-be-married Vicky (Hall) and her best friend Cristina (Johansson) are arriving in Barcelona for a vacation. Not long after their arrival they meet Juan Antonio (Bardem); a charming Spaniard painter who invites the two girls to spend the weekend with him in a nearby town. Cristina - an impulsive romantic - loves the idea, whereas the more analytical Vicky - with her fiancé waiting back home - is uncertain. After some persuasion, the ladies agree to accompany Juan Antonio, and (predictably) they both quickly become enamoured with him. But Juan Antonio's fiery ex-wife Maria Elena (Cruz), with whom he has a tempestuous relationship, re-enters his life in the wake of a suicide attempt. To further complicate matters, Vicky's fiancé Doug (Messina) decides to travel to Barcelona to surprise Vicky with an impromptu wedding.

"We are meant for each other and not meant for each other. It's a contradiction."

The relationship between Juan Antonio and Maria Elena is especially fascinating. As a couple they represent a romantic cliché: the two lovers who are meant to be together, but whose relationship cannot ever work on account of tragic flaws in their personalities. As it turns out, Cristina is the element their previous relationships have lacked - she functions as an effective mood stabiliser. Thus, a threesome is created. The much-hyped liplock between Cruz and Johansson is a consequence of this...but settle down, tiger, as there's precious little making out to be found here.

Allen employs a classic "summer relationship abroad" story - what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona - and uses it as a platform on which to ponder what love means to each of his characters. Framed by an expository voice-over, Vicky Cristina Barcelona carries the intentional feel of a short story - a contemporary parable, perhaps - on the enduring difficulties of relationships and the pursuit for love. Unfortunately, deliberate or not, Woody Allen's checklist of clichés runs long. Both Vicky and Cristina are archetypal American travellers; one with a life and fiancé back home, the other dictated by desire and open to any experience. Enter Spaniard caricatures: the interesting stranger who opens the girls' souls to art, and his fiery ex-lover driven by fervour and insanity. The clichés are extremely detrimental. Luckily, though, the characters are beguiling nonetheless and the film entertains to no end. Allen's European postcard works as breezy entertainment and is a dosage of pure joy.

Despite the clichés, the four central protagonists do come across as actual people. It most certainly helps that writer/director Allen has amassed such a magnificent cast to bring these characters to life. There's a credible spark of chemistry between all of them, and Javier Bardem in particular is astoundingly charming. Not many men could proposition two women within a few minutes of meeting them before convincing them to spend a romantic weekend with him in an unfamiliar city. The immaculate Bardem makes this entirely believable rather than just a silly male fantasy. Vicky Cristina Barcelona is sultry without ever coming across as exploitative, and this intensity is only amplified by the sparkling wit of Allen's dialogue.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona moves at a brisk pace and is light on its feet. It engages an audience in its central discussion (about love) without ever being too overbearing about it. Most impressive about Woody Allen's more modern output is the remarkable control he exerts over his camera. His storytelling approach becomes increasingly more efficient, opting to travel down the most direct route to his destination without taking detours into superfluous exposition. In actual fact, this time Allen utilises an omniscient narrator (voiced by actor Christopher Evan Welch) to dispense explanations wherever necessary, which allows him to plunge straight into the story and move quickly over transitional moments. This enables Allen to pack a great deal of story into a tight 96-minute running time. However, the narrator is definitely overused. Half the time there's nothing insightful or witty about the disembodied observations - the narrator states the obvious! One of the most basic rules of filmmaking is "show, don't tell". Overusing the narrator allows Allen to re-write the rule as "tell, don't show". The clichés, coupled with the excessive narration, are the only missteps of an otherwise fine motion picture.

"Vicky and Cristina decided to spend the summer in Barcelona. Vicky was completing her master's in Catalan Identity, which she had become interested in through her great affection for the architecture of Gaudí. Cristina, who spent the last six months writing, directing, and acting in a 12-minute film which she then hated, had just broken up with yet another boyfriend and longed for a change of scenery."

Woody Allen has casting down to a science at this point. Javier Bardem won an Academy Award in 2008 for his performance as one of the creepiest killers ever to walk the earth in No Country for Old Men. In Allen's movie, the actor oozes charisma as the charming Spanish painter. Penélope Cruz won an Oscar for her sizzling performance here as the hot-blooded Maria Elena.
Bardem and Cruz are both spectacular! The repartee between them is energising and dynamic; the pair switching from English to Spanish (sometimes in mid-sentence) with absolutely mesmerising precision. Their relationship feels so undeniably authentic. The years of pain, anguish, understanding and love is evident in their expressions and the way they communicate.
Scarlett Johansson (Allen's latest woman of choice) appears as Cristina; an artist struggling to find her voice, flirting with poetry and photography as a replacement for filmmaking. Johansson's portrayal is convincing and perfectly subdued. The actress comes across as natural as opposed to Hollywood, and this is a quality spread across to everyone in the cast (in fact Allen is sublime at capturing naturalistic performances). Rebecca Hall (the least-known of the primary cast) gives a deep, heartfelt performance as Vicky; a grad student fascinated by Catalan culture who has decided to travel to Barcelona to absorb it firsthand. Hall's portrayal is extremely enthralling; allowing a viewer to feel for her awkward position.

Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona doesn't shrug love off merely as an abstract destination for stock characters to chase for ninety minutes. The director is instead more fascinated by the pursuit; how it transforms and torments, and how love isn't merely an interchangeable, simply defined notion but a connection that can mean different things to different people. Allen strikes a terrific balance between light-hearted romance and an intelligent examination of the pursuit of love. He does so with a set of vividly-drawn, albeit clichéd characters brought to life by a delightful cast. Vicky Cristina Barcelona may begin as a conventional concept of a romantic summer in Europe, but it soon transforms into a delectably amusing and poignant motion picture which is just as much fun for the audience as it is for the aging writer/director. Allen's most enduring films have been clever, funny and romantic with a touch of melancholy, and that's definitely the case here. Maybe it's the foreign languages or the gaudy locations, but whatever the case Woody Allen seems to have regained his ability to make exasperating characters come off as alluring, and make an outright fantasy seem achievable. And his efforts here earned him a Golden Globe for Best Picture (Comedy or Musical).

7.8/10